Last night I was unpacking some of my books and papers. We just moved back to Kansas City a couple of weeks ago and have been setting up our new apartment home.
One of my favorite things to do is unpack books, sketchbooks and notepads. I have accumulated these items over my life. Every page I have doodled or written on (and that I think has some sort of creative value to myself) I try to keep.
I always imagine I would someday sit down and put it all together – make a book or comic or zine with it. Or even a large coffee table type composition that one can enjoy flipping through when waiting for a friend to get ready for a party or the tea to be made.
Within this composition there would be cutesy doodles, lyrics of songs I wrote, sad prose, terribly gaudy fan fiction erotica, my dreams and nightmares, poetry and parts of my memoir.
Years passed, however, and I still have yet to put my arts together. It has always been this little thing in the back of my mind that I was hoping to do. And now, in a time where we can self publish – there really is no excuse for me to wait.
Thankfully I realize this at the age of 27, when I have years left to create and put together what I have made so far.
I knew though, that there was going to be a time when I would be truly ready.
And now is that time.
I needed to get here first. There was no use guilting myself about not publishing. I needed to get to a point where I believed in my creation before anyone else does. No matter how many people said the things I made were great – if I didn’t believe it, it didn’t matter.
I know that whatever I first publish, or even the second time – won’t be perfect. That is okay. I now realize that nothing, besides a nicely ripened champagne mango, is perfect.
It’s absolutely freeing, to let go of the expectation of perfection for oneself and other’s. It’s human. It’s real. It lets us live our life, fearlessly and in full color.
Thanks for joining me on this journey, readers. See ya next time~